


Far from the Tree

by dweadpiwatemeggers



Series: Emerald and Bronze [11]
Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Family, Gen, Mother-Daughter Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 23:15:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29865549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dweadpiwatemeggers/pseuds/dweadpiwatemeggers
Summary: A rewrite of the office scene in Book 3, to add a little more depth. In which Charlotte confronts Rebecca about her sense of timing, and their tense relationship. Book 3/demo spoilers.
Relationships: Female Detective & Rebecca
Series: Emerald and Bronze [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948069
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	Far from the Tree

Rebecca’s words linger in the air between them,  " _ I know things have always been tense between us, but I want to be one of the people that helps offer you comfort throughout all of this _ ,” and Charlotte blinks owlishly at the woman - her mother - standing across the desk from her.

“Why?” It’s the only thing she can think to say. At least it’s marginally more intelligent than the blank  _ what _ that had initially echoed through her mind. “You never did before.”

“Because now you know it all. Now you are part of the world I always had to keep hidden from you.” Rebecca leans closer, the chair she’s leaning on creaking in her grip. “Our lives were separate before, but now they’re not so much.”

_ And whose fault is that,  _ the thought, a burning ember, drifts toward the kindling of her temper.  _ Who kept our lives separate, exactly? _

“Of course,” Charlotte’s voice is barely above a whisper, when she speaks, but her words are laced with an uncharacteristic sarcasm. She is in no mood for her usual civility. Not after the night she’s had - the night Rebecca knows she’s had. “Why don’t we work on our relationship, now that it’s  _ convenient _ for you.”

“I didn’t say that.”

She scoffs, “Just heavily implied it.”

“I only meant that I’m able to be honest with you now,” Rebecca persists.

“ _ Honest.”  _ Charlotte says, her voice still low. As it has been throughout their conversation. Hers is the quiet anger, the seething rage. And Rebecca, had she known her better, would have recognized the signs. But now it is too late. The ember lands. The kindling is lit. And Charlotte  _ burns. _

“You’re able to be _honest._ _Christ_ , you’re unbelievable,” she murmurs, half to herself.

She stands from her chair slowly, hands braced on her desk as she glares at the woman in front of her. “Did you  _ honestly  _ think that I needed to know what you did when I was 6 and I was being put to bed by strangers? How about when I was 10 and spending more time at the neighbour’s house than ours because it actually felt like a home?”

She takes a breath, watching Rebecca crumple in on herself.  _ Good _ . She doesn’t think so much as feel it, savagely satisfied. “Or maybe,” she continues, voice still filled with the same quiet menace, “I needed to know about your work life when I was graduating high school, and I got an apologetic voicemail and an empty seat instead of a parent?

“Charlotte…” Rebecca’s protest is a weak and pitiful thing, sacrificed to the flame she has fuelled.

“Let’s  _ be _ honest.” And now it is Charlotte who leans forward, on the attack, the inferno burning out of her control. “If it wasn’t for some genetic quirk of mine, we wouldn’t even be  _ having _ this conversation. You’d  _ still _ be choosing to be a  _ fucking _ stranger.”

She inhales deeply, and finishes at a whisper. “Because that’s what you’ve _always_ been. You can’t be better at ‘us’, because there isn’t an ‘us’ to be better at.”

Her eyes are hard as the bronze of their colour, as Rebecca drags her coat from the chair, holding it in a weak grip, struggling to replace her near ever-present mask of professionalism. "I understand. If you wish for us to only work together, then I'll respect that."

She watches, unrelenting, when Rebecca hesitates at the doorway, and she can’t stop herself from rolling her eyes, can’t stop her snort of derision as the older woman speaks the words: "But I will always be here for you, Charlotte. Always." 

Only once she’s gone does Charlotte collapse into her chair, burying her face in her hands to bite back a scream.

She manages to, just barely, before there is a knock, two slow, three fast,  _ rap-rap-tap-tap-tap _ , on the office door, and Tina steps inside.

“How much did you hear?” Charlotte mumbles into her hands. 

“Enough.”

“ _ Fuck _ .” Charlotte mutters. She lifts her head to look at her oldest friend, and makes a bring-it-on gesture with her hand.

Tina simply asks, “How long has that been brewing?”

“Since she came back to town.”

“Do you regret saying it?”

Charlotte pauses, thinking. Does she? It felt necessary. It felt warranted. It still does. “Not really.”

“ _ Char _ ,” Tina’s reproach is gentle (she’s always had the softer heart).

“What?”

“How long have we known each other?”

“About 20 years.” Charlotte doesn’t need to think to answer, knows it like she knows her name, like she knows every curl on Tina’s head. (Knows it like she knows every one of Tina’s secrets.)

“So when I say you’re going to cool off, consider what happened, and then get pissed that she got under your skin all over again?” Tina asks. And she’s right, because she knows Charlotte like she knows her own hands, like she knows every variegation of colour in Charlotte’s light brown eyes. (Knows it like she used to know every one of Charlotte’s.)

Charlotte’s answering grimace speaks louder than any words ever could -  _ you’re right _ .

Tina reaches across the desk to pat Charlotte’s hand. “Why don’t you go talk to the old man?”

“I’m on duty.”

“Please.” Tina scoffs. “I can cover for you here. Keep your phone on, don’t go too far out, it’ll be fine.”

She watches as Charlotte wavers, and holds her hand up in a Scout’s salute. “I  _ promise _ I will call if anything comes up.”

For the first time that morning, Charlotte feels a smile creep across her face. “I owe you.” 

“Nah.” Tina offers a pink-lipsticked grin in return. You don’t.”


End file.
